


Aftermath

by Kissing_Toast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Inspired by Music, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester-centric, Try listening to the songs while reading, right in the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10021292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissing_Toast/pseuds/Kissing_Toast
Summary: Sam's summer between S3 and S4, as illuminated through song lyrics and the odd poem. (Some of the songs weren't released until after the events on the show, but ya know, artistic license and all that.)Link to playlist of songs at the end. Feel free to check out my SPN vids while you're there ;)





	1. AFTER

When he first starts the car after Dean– after... he drives in silence; lets the glow of early morning light guide him, because his vision is too blurred by tears to really see the road. He hopes for a crash, maybe an oncoming vehicle plowing straight into him, perhaps he could just let go of the wheel and set the Impala adrift. He glances in the rear-view, thankfully can't see his brother's torn body resting on the back seat, makes his eyes focus on the glare of sunlight reflecting off Bobby's windshield. He tightens his grip on the wheel, like that act alone is all the resolve he needs to follow through, feels the grooves from Dean's hands under his palms and drives.

 

* * *

 

Sam's been driving blind since just after dawn. It's now past midday and he would realize how hungry he was if he'd just pay attention. But his mind is swirlng with images of Dean, of the last twenty-four hours, and he's still blinking back tears. Suddenly it's like a lightning bolt hits him, making him jerk hard enough that he almost puts the car into oncoming traffic – if there were any. Sam hits the brakes and by some miracle Bobby manages to stop short of rear-ending the Impala.

Sam gets out and pulls a shovel from the trunk, marches about 300 yards into a field and smashes the steel tip into the earth. He's got a decent pile of sod started by the time Bobby catches up to him, old man huffing from the hike in hot midday sun. They're amongst the trees here, tall sentinels to watch over Dean's resting place. But it's only temporary, Sam thinks fiercely. He will find a way to save his brother, to bring him back, no matter the cost.

Despite the shade in which he works, Sam's hair is soaked through with sweat before the hole is half dug. Bobby gave up with his concerned questions after thirty minutes and left to find something to put Dean in. No! Put the body in... The body that's slowly baking in the Impala. Hopefully no one will stop and see it, Sam thinks restlessly, as he forces his muscles to push the shovel in one more time, haul the dirt out.

Bobby returns with a crude pine box, blackened and warped. He's managed to jamb it halfway into the trunk of his car, which he now drives up alongside the grave, steering cautiously over the uneven terrain. Sam won't let him help, has to dig this grave himself. By early evening they've carted Dean down from the car, laid him out in the box and are standing by, heads bowed. Bobby takes his baseball cap off, holds it to his chest.

“We should salt and burn him.” He tries for the twentieth time, hushed and gentle. Shows reverence for the dearly departed.

“He'll need a body when I get him home.” Sam's eyes are dryer than dirt now. He has no more tears left, only sweat streaks his face, leaving tracks in the smudges of soil.

Bobby sighs, seems like he's about to speak, and Sam can't hear it again. Can't hear those words uttered because they mean that Dean will be truly gone. It may be a hunter's due, but that's not what Dean needs now. He needs Sam to save him. To keep Bobby quiet, Sam closes the musty lid and begins heaving dirt on top. Long shadows lay a strange cast of light over the grave and Bobby carefully drives back to the road while Sam finishes up.

When he's done he feels empty. Dean is gone, dead and buried and for some unfathomable reason a poem from one of Sam's old English classes flows through his head. He murmers it slowly as he trecks back to the road.

_When I am dead, my dearest,_

_Sing no sad songs for me;_

_Plant thou no roses at my head,_

_Nor shady cypress tree:_

_Be the green grass above me_

_With showers and dewdrops wet;_

_And if thou wilt, remember,_

_And if thou wilt, forget._

 

_I shall not see the shadows,_

_I shall not feel the rain;_

_I shall not hear the nightingale_

_Sing on, as if in pain:_

_And dreaming through the twilight_

_That doth not rise nor set,_

_Haply I may remember,_

_And haply may forget._

Dean would give him such a ribbing if he heard that poem being recited at his funeral. But it's a private moment for Sam, and the words take on a sanctified tenor, become his own prayer for the deceased.

He doesn't speak any more to Bobby, ignores the worried glances, just drives away.

 


	2. WEEK 1

After putting his brother in the ground, Sam drives non-stop to Wyoming and its Devil's Gate. Takes the I-80 west past Rawlins, turns north onto US-20 and then winds along dusty nameless roads in chilling moonlight. Desperation burns rubber along the interstate; the way is long and even twenty miles over the limit it takes him fifteen hours to get there.

Standing in front of that ramshackle mosauleum, trying to gain access through abasement and sheer stubborn will, he feels the spirit of not only Dean but also John weighing on him. But he doesn't have the Colt and no amount of magic unlocks the gate. As he slinks away between the tombstones he hears a faint plea, carried on the wind – Dean's voice, anguished and desperate, and it only calls one word. _Sam._

 

* * *

 

Days of driving in silence and Sam's nerves, or rather his racing brain, can't handle it any longer. He turns on the radio and fate truly hates him because _Wanted Dead Or Alive_ trickles through the speakers, making his pulse spike and his eyes wet. He cuts the sound and proceeds with heavy breaths until he's calm once more.

The next day, after careful monitoring of the airwaves, he decides to play one of Dean's tapes, doesn't much care which one – anything to break the monotony of the same ten country songs in an endless loop over four stations. Metallica is what he gets; twangy guitar and gentle drums, a slow one. He thinks he vaguely recognizes this particular song, and it's melodic enough for him to appreciate, when Hetfield's voice begins softly:

_Life it seems will fade away/drifting further everyday/getting lost within myself/nothing matters no one else/I have lost the will to live/simply nothing more to give/there is nothing more for me/need the end to set me free._

Just as the overly distorted base begins thumping he shuts it off, pulls over on the deserted two-lane road, gets out of the car and screams.

 

 


	3. WEEK 2

Alone one night at a run down motel Sam is drifting from his internet search of infernal lore onto other things. He's blindly read the same passage five times. Instead of the words on the screen he has the chorus to a song running through is head. A song he heard recently that now feels wildly apropo. He pulls up the song in a new tab, turns the laptop's shitty speakers way up and listens.

_If heaven and hell decide/that they both are satisfied/illuminate the No's on their vacancy signs/if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks/then I'll follow you into the dark._

The accoustic guitar is chipper enough but those lyrics add a sinister slant and it leaves him shivering, first with gooseflesh and then with tears. Sure, the song is about a man losing his love, but that hook – those words – won't leave his mourning brain and no amount of bourbon will wash it away. It's self-imposed torture, he knows, but it's bitterweet catharsis all the same. After twenty replays and half a bottle, he heads for the car. _I'll follow you into the dark_ ringing like a dirge in his ears.

 

* * *

 

The demon taunts and goads but won't deal, even with Ruby's knife making its point, and Sam gets more than a bit hysterical. He can't understand why they won't take him. Lilith was so hot for him only weeks before. What changed?

“Why not? Lilith wants me dead. Just let Dean go, and she can have me!” Confusion blankets his thoughts. He's a step up from slurring, liquor cuts his temper to the quick, but the adrenaline of standing nose to nose with a crossroads demon sobers him some.

“Don't you understand, Sam? It's not about your soul. Dean's in Hell, right where we want him. We've got everything exactly the way we want it. You want to kill me? Go ahead. I've made peace with my lord.”

The words make sense on their own but the broader meaning won't settle with Sam; wishes he hadn't thrown the last of his bourbon into the weeds. His hand is still on the knife, buried deep in the demon's hand and the wood underneath. Ole Crossroads' pained smirk angers him. Well, Sam thinks, eyes narrowing, if this bastard has made peace with his lord....

He wrenches the blade free, shoves it through coat and shirt before the demon can even cradle his wounded appendage. A silent scream accompanies the crackling light show and when the hellspawn is extinguished Sam strides back to the car, falls into the driver's seat, and weeps.

 


	4. WEEK 5

Ruby had found him when he stumbled back to the motel room after the failed deal. Bumrushed him inside the door with a nameless demon lackey. She played the ruse well and before he could make heads or tails of what was going on they were on the road and he was demanding that she let the blonde secretary go, otherwise he'd kill her.

So, she'd found him a few days later, knocked on the door of the abandoned house wearing the body of the attractive dark-haired one and promising that she could fill the void by helping him get Lilith. She trained him in Advanced Exorcism, letting him feed the psychic gift with secret knowledge and a regular dose of her blood.

One month later, after finding signs of Lilith's arrival, he's standing in the aftermath of Lilith's decoy-meet-and-greet, head pounding from the emergency exorcism he just pulled. Ruby saved him, and in return he saved her. The move she makes towards him projects intended intimacy, more blood, perhaps more of that borrowed flesh. But Sam feels disjointed, despite the burgeoning need for another fix.

“I... gotta go.” It's awkward but he doesn't care.

Ruby looks put out but then steels herself and nods, lips drawn tight. He blinks and she's gone. But she'll be back; needs no invitation to find him, no phone call to ascertain his whereabouts.

Sam collects his things from the abandoned house and hits the backroads, aimlessly driving until he can find a motel in a place he's never seen before. As he flips between radio stations the clean and pleasant guitar intro of a song he's never heard before grabs his attention. He turns up the volume.

The whispery male voice croons out sad words about finding what you're looking for and holding on to what you love. When the first gentle chorus plays and then the percussion picks up, Sam finds himself reliving the past month, the horror that led up to it. The singer goes on to belt out in a pleasantly raspy voice about the consequences of war. Again that beautiful chorus, and then lively piano joins the repertoire as the singer hums a few notes in harmony. But it's the last verse that hits Sam. This one tells of single parents fighting as hard as they can and about unconditional love and suddenly Sam's thinking back to his Dad, and long-buried memories of their little family makes his eyes fill with tears. He wipes them away frustratedly as the crescendo ends and the song comes to a close.

_And it ain't hard to tell/ when it's love that we sell/so God if you can hear me crash this train/I said my God if you can hear me crash this train._

On and on that line is sung, vocals and music building one last time before the end.

 


	5. WEEK 11

Sam's driving along a deserted and glistening road in western Tennessee, when the radio announcer's voice pulls him out of mirage-induced reverie.

“ _Up next, Windows Are Rolled Down by Amos Lee.”_

Though Sam has always had difficulty accepting the nature of his nomadic life, since Dean's passing he's inexplicably drawn to anything that glorifies a life on the road. If he thinks about it too hard he'll probably see the hypocrisy in the sentiment, but though the pain of Dean's absence is lessening, any form of tribute makes his heart swell.

_Windows are rolled down/sun is setting high/windows are rolled down/I'm fixin' to die_

Sam smiles stupidly, thinking that if only Dean would give modern music a shot he might have actually liked this song. He's tapping away at the steering wheel like his brother used to; sees a figure on the hazy, sun-rippled road. As he passes it's Dean standing there, smiling at him and waving, flickering in the midday sun. Not like a ghost, Sam knows that isn't a possibility, instead his brother stands there like a memory, like a small piece of what heaven might be. Oh God, he misses his brother, but this is the first time it hasn't hurt.

_Corn rows have companion feel/this rocky road and this steering wheel/who do you call to ease your pain/I hope for you to get through this rain._

His smile turns sad as he drums away to the beat and quietly hums along. No sacrifice was too great to get Dean back. Nothing worked, so now he's on a mission to find Lilith instead. She's measly remuneration for the loss of his kin, and he should be angry, upset, livid. But all he can do while listening to this song is smile and cry and be grateful for the sun shining down on him. It's only a moment's respite. He'll take what he can get.

 


	6. WEEK 12

Ruby meets him in Tennessee a week later, helps him track Lilith's entourage. When she arrives at the motel Sam falls into her arms intent on feeling something besides seething vengeance – sex and blood will work just fine. It's rough and tumble with a taste of desperation, but he needs it and she's there. After, he cleans his guns methodically while she dresses. She's gone by the time he's done.

The next evening she calls him, tells him to pack up and head north. Two hours in, his thoughts are deep into memories. Dark, light, all of them painful in some way. The radio that's been humming with brainless chatter for a while switches gears, an echoing drumbeat trickles out, followed by a few bars of distorted bass. In an instant Sam's thoughts are swept clean and he's transfixed by the haunting voice that's begun crooning.

_Lately I've been sitting around killing time/Staring at faces going blind/Like I'm waiting for a sign/To come find me_

He feels a slow catharsis begin. He's known for a couple of months now that Dean can't be saved – at least by his hand. And so vengeance has been the next best thing. It's been the only thing warming his blood and filling his empty broken soul, the small heartbeat that has kept him moving forward. Now he feels that vengeance will be his own end. Nothing good ever came of it and instead he wants to foster his powers and become the strongest hunter, the most capable. Just like Dean was.

_So I wanna believe/In all the things that you see/And finally be free/How I used to be_

_So I hope you know/There's more of me than I show/But I just need another beginning/I need you to know/I'll get there/I just started Slowly/Now nothing can hold me_

After the last beats fade away he stares blindly at the high-beam-illuminated road in front of him. Blinks back tears only to find there are none, and he feels a kind of peace. Drinking Ruby's blood has helped him get strong, being strong will help him defeat Lilith, and defeating Lilith will be his opus. It will give him retribution, it will give him closure. It will make their loss worth it. All the death, all the pain – mother, father, brother.

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjkrcnPm-bd4I2EYt5dDbvypHes3ngH7a
> 
> Youtube playlist of the songs mentioned.
> 
> The poem is "When I Am Dead, My Dearest" by Christina Rossetti


End file.
